In Significance
by Are Are
Summary: One-shot. Thomas and Jimmy teach each other about love. Possibly inspired by too many readings of Flippyspoon's "1921".


"Where do you go, on your half days?" Thomas asked Jimmy, when they had become close enough that he was fairly certain Jimmy would not be offended by the question. Jimmy always vanished into some unknown place, _sans_ company and absent for the evening- and Thomas was all but pried apart by curiosity over it.

_Don't be curious,_ Thomas told himself, internally. Curiosity was a symptom of the larger affliction, the one that Thomas was making a halfhearted attempt to beat. Only _half_- because the _other_ part of his heart belonged to Jimmy, and beat for him only. _Ha-ha_, Thomas thought. _How witty. And maudlin._

"I go and gamble all my money away," Jimmy said, easily- he stood by Thomas in the courtyard on that chill autumn afternoon_, _smoking one of Thomas's cigarettes.

"Really?" Thomas asked, tilting his head at the glare from the sun. Jimmy's profile appeared and vanished- now a silhouette, now a complete picture.

"Nah," Jimmy said- and he smiled- and threw the end of his cigarette onto the gravel-covered ground. Smoke wreathed Jimmy's face, making Thomas think of saints and martyrs, immortalized in stained glass. "But ask me again sometime."

"Where d'ya go, when you have an afternoon to yourself?" Thomas asked Jimmy, eight weeks or so later- but Jimmy sat rigidly at the table- and at Thomas's inquiry he scowled.  
Thomas had been trying to lighten Jimmy's mood- the other man's distress had been obvious all day- though Thomas could not guess at the source of it. But then Jimmy said, bitingly: "I suppose you had a nice time with Lord Lonnie?"

"Lord Leon," Thomas corrected, as politely as he could manage while in a state of abject shock. Thomas was _certain_ he had been more discreet than _that_. "But I don't know what you mean," Thomas added, hastily, when he remembered that a denial would be appropriate to the situation.

"_They_ all call him _Lonnie_," Jimmy said, jerking his thumb towards the ceiling, to indicate the upstairs set- "-and I bet _you_ did too, when you slipped out to see him, last night."

"_Jimmy_," Thomas said. "I don't know why you would think that-_"_

"Because I went to your _room_, you stupid sod!" Jimmy snapped, slamming his book rather roughly against the table.

"Y-you _did_?" Thomas replied, after a beat- and Jimmy blushed, and shook his head.  
"Not like _that_," Jimmy muttered, staring at Thomas with a mixture of embarrassment and effrontery on his face. "For the lunar eclipse. We were supposed to watch it, remember?" Jimmy added, bitterly- and then Jimmy's shoulders slumped, as he sighed.

"That's _next_ Tuesday," Thomas said, raising an eyebrow.

"No. The seventh."

"The fourteenth. I have the article about it on my vanity."

"Oh," Jimmy said, in a small voice- but then the hostility came back to his expression, and he added: "Was he very good, then?"

"No," Thomas said, around a cigarette. No point lying about it now. "Lousy."

"Good. Don't do it again," Jimmy returned, darkly- and then he looked up at Thomas, as if he had not meant to say so much. "It's just that I worry about your _safety_," Jimmy added, plastering an expression of concern across his face- as if to cover up his earlier sentiment. "It's _dangerous_ for a fellow like yourself-"

"You needn't worry," Thomas said, immediately. "I wouldn't touch him again with a yardstick an' a pair of marble gloves."

"Why not?" Jimmy asked- and he leaned forward, tilting his head, until his gold-toned hair slid over his eyes.

It was well outside the bounds of propriety to ask such a thing- but they were utterly alone- and also they were eachother's only friends in all the world, so far as Thomas could tell. So- because Jimmy was a confidante, and a co-conspirator- and because Thomas loved him- he rolled his eyes, and elaborated, a little. "No matter how well bred, there're still plenty of upper-class folk who haven't any manners in the bedroom," Thomas said- and he blew out a dramatic cloud of smoke- the perfect ending to his denouncement of Lord Lonnie.

However this only served to make Jimmy look quite alarmed- and Thomas balked at the anxious expression that worked creases into the other man's brow. "What?" Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow. _You can't pretend you didn't know about me. Not after all that happened. _

"Is that why you've b-been… been _limping_ all day?" Jimmy asked- his face was quite pale, suddenly- and Thomas watched as Jimmy gripped the edges of the wooden table, his knuckles turning white.

"_What_?" Thomas asked again- and then he shook his head, vigorously, as if to dispel the idea. "No. _No_. It wasn't like _that. _He was just clumsy and thoughtless, that's all. It didn't go against my _will_ or anything."

For some reason Jimmy did not look remotely reassured- and Thomas was torn between dropping the subject and making up some story to explain his obvious physical discomfort- something that would quell Jimmy's unease. _I turned my ankle on a chair leg,_ Thomas thought- it was a lie- but it was on the tip of his tongue to say it, just to wipe the worried look off of Jimmy's lovely face.

"But it hurt you all the same, even if it _wasn't_ against your will," Jimmy said- his voice was oddly tense- and his cheeks burned red, so brightly that Thomas could see it, even with the lights turned down, as they were.

"This is isn't really a discussion we should have _here_," Thomas said- and Jimmy nodded- though his eyes were still quite wide- and reached his hand across the table.

"You want a cigarette?" Thomas asked, when Jimmy flexed his fingers impatiently. "Or just to hold my hand?"

Jimmy pulled an awful face at Thomas, but kept his hand upturned. "Cigarette."

"Maybe hand-holding later, though," Thomas said- and passed Jimmy the pack and his silver lighter, flourishing his hand in a exaggerated, mincing way. At Thomas's words and actions the frown somewhat eased off of Jimmy's face. Thomas would occasionally do that- play the silly lavender chap- for Jimmy's amusement. For some reason Jimmy derived amusement from it- not that Jimmy was _cruel_, anymore. Not at all.

"It's only funny because you're so- so _not_ like that," Jimmy said, as if he had read Thomas's mind.

"Mmm. Well. Don't believe everything you're told about certain kinds of people," Thomas answered.

"I don't," Jimmy replied, immediately. For a moment they both smoked, in companionable silence.

"Well," Thomas said, putting out his cigarette, "I'm off to-"

"I watch birds. That's what I do," Jimmy said, suddenly. "If you laugh, I'll kill you."

"What?" Thomas asked, bewildered by this sudden, inexplicable turn of the conversation. "What d'ya mean?"

"On my half-day," Jimmy said- he was red faced again, but he looked directly into Thomas's eyes, as if to challenge him. "I watch birds. And other animals. Trees. Um."

"You _watch_ trees? Like… as in.. you _study_ nature? With a journal? Are you an amateur naturalist, or something?" Thomas asked, attempting to include such a thing in his idea of Jimmy Kent, and falling rather short.

"No, _no_, I just like to go for walks," Jimmy said, as if it should've been obvious. "There're a lot of interesting things. I like to be alone out-of-of-doors."

"Oh." Thomas said.

"I was a meter away from a barn owl one time," Jimmy said. "I know all the old paths 'round here, now. At dusk- this past summer- I almost stumbled right over a fox and her kits."

"Oh, a _barn owl_, how thrillingly exotic," Thomas said- and Jimmy kicked his shin, under the table. "If it's so benign, what you do," Thomas said, grinning at Jimmy's annoyance- "Why make a great secret of it?"

"I don't know," Jimmy said, slowly. Jimmy's voice had grown quiet, as if he were confessing something. "You've asked me every week for two months. I suppose I liked being asked."

"Well," Thomas answered, after a pause for consideration. "It's better this way anyhow. Now instead of asking you what you _do_, I can ask you what you _did_. An' you can tell me all your harrowing barn-owl encounters."

"Right," Jimmy said- and he looked oddly relieved- but then as Thomas got to his feet- a touch slowly- Jimmy's face fell again. "Let me help you up the stairs," Jimmy said- and Thomas laughed. "You can't be serious," Thomas replied. "What d'ya think _happened_, exactly?"

"I don't _know_," Jimmy snapped, in obvious consternation. "I don't know anything _about_ what your sort does."

But still Jimmy followed Thomas rather closely up the stairs, and lingered at his door- and Thomas was so touched by it- by the fact that Jimmy cared for him so- that he found he could not sleep for many hours.

The next day at dinner Jimmy tipped an entire dish of olives- in garlic and water- over Lord Leon. Jimmy had apologized profusely, and it had been taken as genuine mistake. Even Carson's chastisement- which should have been serious, as Jimmy had wronged a _guest_- had really only amounted to a lecture. But _Thomas_ had been watching- and he'd seen how Jimmy had flicked his wrist upside-down, neat-as-you-please. The mishap was utterly deliberate.

"You really don't need to be angry," Thomas said, when he'd first gotten a chance to speak with Jimmy alone. It was late in the evening- and they smoked together in the kitchen yard- for no reason other than to look at the finely-wrought blanket of stars. "I told you Lonnie isn't a bad sort."

"I hope he burns in Hell," Jimmy said, flatly- and inclined his head upwards, again.

"And me right there with him," Thomas retorted.

"What? _No,_" Jimmy said, shaking his head rapidly. "Not because of _that_. I meant because he's a thoughtless clod who hurts other people and doesn't care."

"Ah," Thomas said, rolling his eyes. "Well then. I suppose every last one of us will fry together."

"Perhaps we're already _in_ Hell," Jimmy said, in theatrical tones.

"_Well_, if you want to get philosophical," Thomas said- and they both chuckled.

"Let's go upstairs," Jimmy said, suddenly- and Thomas nodded, thinking that Jimmy meant to one of their rooms- where they would often go, to do word-cross puzzles from _Pearson's _or else read the paper, or plug away halfheartedly at some book. But Jimmy did not make it upstairs- he wandered to the empty kitchen- and Thomas followed him, watching with some amusement as Jimmy rifled through the cupboards, until he found bread and a jar of preserves.

"My room," Jimmy said, tucking the bread under his arm- and Thomas nodded. "Always a pleasure to spend an evening in the Hall of Mirrors."

"Don't _call_ it that, I hate it when you call it that," Jimmy hissed, shaking his head. "I don't own _that_ many."

"Only a half-dozen," Thomas responded innocently- just to provoke a further reaction.

"Not nearly," Jimmy said- but he smiled at Thomas- and stepped aside at the door, so that Thomas could walk in before him.

When they had picked at the food for a bit, and made easy conversation, Jimmy cleared his throat. "You should take your half-day with mine sometimes," Jimmy said. "If you can. We could go for walks together."

"I don't know," Thomas said, affecting a frown. "I have a terrible fear of barn owls."

"Shut your mouth," Jimmy said, laughing.

"No, really. It's _very_ bad. Plagued me my whole life-"

"Oh _be_ quiet," Jimmy replied- and he grinned, for a moment, rocking back and forth on the bed- but then his expression grew grave- and he looked Thomas full in the face.

"I was knocked unconscious in battle at Bois-de-Bantheville, during the war," Jimmy said, apropos of nothing. "A group of us got turned around, in no-man's-land. Our Captain ran back into the gunfire- and got a bunch of people out- but he didn't make it himself."

"But you were injured?" Thomas asked. Jimmy never volunteered personal information- and Thomas had _never_ heard him speak of the war.

"Yes. Well, no. I was hit on the head- by _something- _or someone- and I lost consciousness for a while." Jimmy said, nodding. Jimmy's eyes were fixed on his- though Jimmy did not appear to be looking precisely _at_ Thomas- and for a moment Thomas thought he would not speak further- but then Jimmy cleared his throat.

"I don't remember it clearly, but I suppose our Captain tried to save me, as well. I woke up and it was full dark- and Captain Allworth was lying over me, stone dead, with his back full of bullets." Jimmy swallowed- and shifted on the bed. "I had to crawl out from under him and find my way back to camp- with bodies everywhere and the gunfire going still-"

"That's awful, Jimmy," Thomas said, quite seriously- and Jimmy reached out, with his palm turned up- to where Thomas sat in the chair- and so Thomas fumbled for a cigarette.

"No," Jimmy said, when Thomas offered him the pack- and he grabbed Thomas's free hand, and held it.

"Uh," Thomas said. His mind had gone blank. Jimmy's palm pressed against his- and Thomas could feel Jimmy's pulse underneath, beating quickly.

"It weren't the worst part, though," Jimmy said, squeezing Thomas's hand. Jimmy spoke in low tones- even lower than usual- and he dropped Thomas's gaze- to look at the floor. "The Captain had- he was taller than me, and broader- but he had yellow hair, too- kind of the same as mine-"

Thomas watched Jimmy's free hand come up, as if to make sure his hair were still in place.

"And when I got back to our trenches- without getting shot, I might add- the Captain's best mate came running up to me in the night, shouting- _screaming_ the Captain's name- in the dark he'd mistaken me for Linus- for Captain Allworth, y'see."

"Wishful thinking, probably," Thomas supplied, and Jimmy bobbed his head once, in agreement.

"And then I had to tell him the Captain was dead," Jimmy said. "I ruined him in that moment, you know. I was too tired and too afraid to be kind about it. And I watched…"  
Jimmy stopped speaking, for a moment- and when he spoke again his voice was uneven. He gripped Thomas's hand with an intensity that bordered on uncomfortable- but Thomas did not release his hold on the other man- lest he never be given another opportunity to touch him.

"I watched his heart break into a thousand pieces, poor chap," Jimmy said, quietly. "I never shall forget the look on his face. He was a good sort, too."

"Sounds as if they were in love," Thomas said, trying to lighten Jimmy's misery.

"Maybe they were, at that," Jimmy said, laughing weakly- and he dropped Thomas's hand, to rub at his eyes, with the sleeve of his uniform.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," Thomas said, after he'd given the other man a moment to compose himself.

"Yes. Well," Jimmy intoned, sounding normal again. "That was a personal anecdote, from me to you."

"I very much appreciate it," Thomas returned, seriously- and he did. He would take anything Jimmy had to offer.

"Now you tell _me_ something," Jimmy said. "And make it good."

Thomas's head snapped up- but Jimmy was staring at him- utterly composed, and perfectly serious. Well- maybe not _perfectly_. There was a hint of challenge in his eyes.

_…Alright_, Thomas thought, unsure what game, exactly, they were playing. "Fine," Thomas said- and with a flourish he stripped the glove off of his left hand, revealing to Jimmy his old injury- and Jimmy studied it, with evident fascination.

"Let me tell you the story," Thomas began, "of how I got my honorable war wound…"

It became a game between them: Every night, Jimmy would volunteer a story- or a truth about himself- or a memory- each more personal than the last- and Thomas would reveal one in turn. Sometimes Thomas went first, or sometimes second- but the ultimate goal was always the same- to somehow _trump_ the other person's confession- to be the one who gave away more, who told the grimmer story, who wove the most impressive tale- who betrayed the most of themselves. _And why is the winner the one who gives the most away?_ Thomas wondered- but eventually the answer came to him: _Because they're the bravest, for the evening._

Some evenings Thomas was the braver of the pair of them- it helped if the other person went first, so that you could know what you were up against. Sometimes Jimmy was the winner, although it seemed as if it gave him grief to speak of certain things- more than once he had ended a story with his palms tightly clenched into fists, and had to go to bed right after. Thomas would think all day on what tale he would tell in the evening- the game of it occupied the forefront of his mind.

"Let me tell you about the time I bet on horses against a Duke, and won-" Jimmy would say, and tell the story.

"Alright, that's very interesting," Thomas would return- "-but let me tell you about the time I had an _affair_ with a Duke- an' tried to _blackmail _him after-"

Or Thomas would say: "Let's see, I haven't told you about when Mr. Bates caught me stealing wine-"

To which Jimmy would reply: "I don't think I've ever made mention of the time I stole a set of Lady Anstruther's emerald combs- and lost them at cards-"

Thomas played the game unfairly, though. Jimmy would volunteer more… _difficult_ things- if Thomas set the precedent for the night, in keeping with the competitive spirit of the game. And sometimes, as on the first night- if they were _very_ difficult things- Jimmy would reach out, and grip on to Thomas's hand. It was wrong- oh, _certainly_ it was wrong- for Thomas to try and achieve such an outcome- but try he did. Thomas would spend hours digging around within the caverns of his own mind- digging up memories formative or tragic- and dusting them off, to be presented fully on any evening, in the hope that Jimmy would attempt to do him one better.

In this pursuit Thomas discovered that he told Jimmy things that he had never in his wildest dreams imagined sharing- not with anybody. Not _ever_- and yet, for Jimmy, he freely gave himself away.

He and Jimmy began to take their half-days together, when it could be managed- and Jimmy would lead Thomas down a network of forgotten trails, most fallen into disuse- and show him all the wonders of the woods and fields around Downton.

"Let me tell you about the time I fell in love with a blind soldier, for three weeks," Thomas said, when they strolled, one afternoon, along a path that skirted a long field. Thomas told Jimmy the sad story of Edward Courtenay- and the story of his mother's death- and of his father's death not long after. He told Jimmy about everything O'Brien had said to trick him into assuming Jimmy cared for him romantically- and Jimmy told him the other side to it, how O'Brien had played upon his fears and his ambition. Thomas recounted dabbling in the black market, petty triumphs and sad love affairs- and his worst memories of the war- and tender or disastrous intimacies, and foolish plans that had gone utterly awry.

Jimmy responded in kind- he told Thomas stories of his old job, and of the ways he had been a cheat, or a liar- and of his family- and of the spiteful things he'd done- or that others had done. And a few times that Jimmy had shown kindness. Those stories Jimmy seemed to keep as his greatest treasures- only to be revealed sometimes, and only with a nonchalance that belied the stories themselves. _He's proud of himself, for those,_ Thomas decided- and so he was proud of Jimmy as well- and touched, when in his stories of himself Jimmy elected to do the right thing.

Jimmy had no tales of love affairs- one night's confession was about the fact that he _hadn't_ any love affairs to his name.

"Not so much as a kiss," Jimmy said, ruefully. "I don't count the one I had from you while I was asleep. This is the most I've ever done with anybody."

They weren't holding hands- and so, for a moment, Thomas- still distracted by the embarrassment of Jimmy referencing his past transgressions- could not fathom what Jimmy meant. _Oh, the game, of course,_ Thomas thought, after a pause.

"Why, though?" Thomas inquired. The unspoken rules by which they played did not much allow for one person to interrupt the other while they told their tale- but it was such an obvious question that it begged to be asked.

Jimmy shrugged. "I never wanted to. I used to think there was something wrong with me."

"And now?" Thomas prompted, when Jimmy seemed as if he would not speak again.

"Now…" Jimmy said- and he sighed, and looked away from Thomas, tilting his face upwards, towards the ceiling. "Now I _know_ there's something wrong with me," Jimmy muttered, to the air above his head.

"How d'ya mean?" Thomas asked- but Jimmy shook his head, and would not speak further on the subject.

Months passed in this fashion- and spring came back, to visit them once more- and with it another round of suitors, pressing for marriage to the widowed Lady Mary. Lord Leon was supposed to return- to try for her hand again. _That's not very kind, Lonnie,_ Thomas thought, when Carson had filled him in on what guests they would be expecting. _She was really quite taken with your wit and charm. It'd be a cruel trick, if you actually _did_ get her to marry you._

Of course Jimmy had to be forewarned. "He's _what?_" Jimmy asked- or _snarled,_ more accurately. "He's coming back _here? _I wouldn't think he'd dare to show his face."

"It wasn't as bad as all _that_," Thomas said, laughing at Jimmy's expression. "it just wasn't _spectacular_."

"Yardstick, you said," Jimmy reminded him. "Marble gloves. You said that as well. Give us a cigarette."

"I don't understand why you fret so about my personal affairs," Thomas replied, fishing out a cigarette, and throwing it at Jimmy's face- so that Jimmy had to be very quick about catching it, or else it would bounce off of his nose. Jimmy caught the cigarette neatly, with a triumphant smirk- and then accidentally broke it in half, with the force of his grip- and gave Thomas a disgusted look. "Sorry, _sorry_," Thomas said, affecting an expression of great sincerity- and he promptly threw another cigarette at Jimmy, who ducked it, and glared at him. "I'll beat you within an inch of your life, one of these days," Jimmy said, darkly- but he could not keep the amusement off of his face. "And anyways, of course I fret about your personal affairs," Jimmy said, in more serious tones. "Don't you fret about mine?"

"Well- yes. But-" It wasn't the same, of course, when you were in love with someone. Thomas worried about Jimmy all of the time- if Jimmy was happy, or sad, or whether or not Jimmy was getting enough _sleep_, which seemed a bizarre thing to have occupy your mind.

"So. It's just the same for me," Jimmy said- and nodded, firmly, as if to underline his statement.  
"That's very kind of you-" Thomas began, but Jimmy cut him off. "_I'll_ go first, tonight," Jimmy said, speaking rather quickly. "I told you I've never- I told you I've never even been touched. Or had any affair or a kiss or anything. Because I don't count anything that was done to me against my will. But if I _did_- there was a fellow who made unwanted advances, once." Jimmy looked profoundly uncomfortable- he stared at the wooden slats of Thomas's bedroom floor- and massaged the back of his neck with one hand.

Thomas felt the blackest kind of misery overwhelm him- he did _not_ need to hear the story of how he had betrayed Jimmy's trust, told back to him by the very man he loved- but his feelings much have been sharply etched over his countenance, because Jimmy glanced up at him, and said, "God, Thomas, I don't mean _you-" _and then he reached out, and took Thomas's hand, resting both of their hands together on the edge of the cot.

"Oh?" Thomas asked, trying to keep his voice steady, though he felt as if his throat might close entirely- from shame. "What happened?"

"A guest of Lady Anstruther's- Sir Hollis- he was obvious and loud and drunk for most of his visit. He was considered very… _honorable_ or something, they kept throwing parties for him." Jimmy's voice had receded to a half-whisper- and his brow creased as he talked. "Anyways he was always lookin' at me- not that I cared. Until he cornered me in a linen closet at one of the parties."

"_Jimmy_- Thomas put in, worriedly- "he _didn't_-"

"No, _no,_" Jimmy said, hastily. "He kissed me- horribly- and I stood stock still- hoping he'd give up, or pass out, or something. But then he stuck his hand down the front of my trousers."

"What did you do?" Thomas asked, holding Jimmy's hand in a death grip.

"For a second I was afraid I couldn't get away. He was quite strong- and large- almost as tall as Alfred- and wider. I told him I wasn't like _that_- but he laughed, and just kept on- and grabbed the back of my neck with his other hand. But then I said it was actually very _nice_, and if he could just lean up for a moment- I said something like that, I don't recall exactly what- and when he stood back, I kicked him- well- I _kneed_ him- right in the groin- and he fell over, moaning and weepin' and all drunk- and I just stepped over 'im, and ran away. When Mr. Gibbons asked me why I hadn't gotten him the second tablecloth, like he'd told me to, I said that one of the guests had been sleeping in the linen closet and I hadn't wanted to disturb them." Jimmy said all of this rather rapidly- and he squeezed Thomas's hand, after each sentence.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," Thomas said- but Jimmy took his meaning, and shook his head.

"Don't you wallow in misery," Jimmy said, looking at Thomas very seriously. Through their clasped hands Thomas could feel that Jimmy's heart was going very quickly. "_Don't_," Jimmy said, warningly. "I was… I was _afraid_ of him. That Lord Hollis. Just for a moment I was very afraid."

Thomas nodded, mutely- but Jimmy reached out with his free hand- and pressed it to Thomas's shoulder. "But I wasn't _ever_ afraid of you," Jimmy said. "Not for a moment. I was worried you might make me look bad- look like a _deviant_- like _you_-"

"I know. I'm sorry for-"

"No, be quiet and _look_ at me," Jimmy said, tersely- and Thomas, confused about what exactly Jimmy was trying to communicate to him- looked Jimmy full in the face.

"I was _never_ afraid of you," Jimmy said, staring into Thomas's eyes. "I've always known that you wouldn't hurt me."

"Never," Thomas agreed, because he could not find any other words. It felt like an important moment- and Thomas wondered why he had been granted a quick wit- a quick wit that always deserted him, when he truly needed to utilize it. _Perhaps I'm being punished for something,_ Thomas mused- but as he sat there, with Jimmy's hand in his, listening to Jimmy's confession of trust- he did not feel as if he were being punished, at all.

When Lord Leon arrived a few days later, he thankfully brought his own valet- not that Thomas would have expected anything else. Thomas had forgotten how handsome Lord Leon was- but not the mediocrity of the man's abilities as a lover. Or his deficit of personality. There was an unpleasantness- a _tepidness_- or a thoughtlessness- underneath Lord Leon's considerable charm- and a few times Thomas had been tempted to liken him to the Duke of Crowborough- but it was an inaccurate comparison. Lord Leon- that was, _Lonnie_- was more masculine, more gregarious- and in reality very much less interesting. Not that Thomas would have been able to return to his bed even if Lonnie had been the most faceted man and the greatest lover alive. It had been nearly impossible to manage it the first time, so consumed had he been by thoughts of Jimmy- and that had been before he and Jimmy had begun to play their odd game. Familiarity with the inner working's of Jimmy's mind- and with the events of his life- had not bred contempt in Thomas's heart. In fact he loved Jimmy more now- a painful truth- but the truth, nonetheless. He loved Jimmy more the more he knew him.

However Lord Leon seemed to have no such reservations about bedding _Thomas-_ and he gave him a _look_, when after dinner drinks were being poured.

Thomas had the grace to look politely away- but Jimmy had seen it all- and as soon as the rest of the staff had retired, Jimmy shut himself in Thomas's room. "I won't let you go to him," Jimmy said, grimly. "I'll stay here all bloody _night_ if I have to."

Thomas was absolutely not going to go to Lord Leon- it was not even a temptation- but just to be contrite, he tapped his finger to his chin, and fixed Jimmy with a serious look. "Awfully difficult to resist an invitation like _that_, though," Thomas said. "It's not often I get a chance to keep company with my sort."

"It's my turn to go first," Jimmy said, in a brittle voice- and he sat down, abruptly, in the desk chair that Thomas now habitually kept beside his cot. Thomas followed him- assessing Jimmy with his eyes, and seeing that Jimmy's distress, whatever the source, was quite acute.

"Yes, go ahead," Thomas answered- and sat on the bed- and Jimmy reached out, and took Thomas's right hand in his left. Thomas did not let himself sigh as Jimmy entwined their fingers- but he did relax, slightly, into the touch, flexing his palm against Jimmy's.

"This is very difficult for me to say," Jimmy began, after a silent moment. "Though I'm sure you know it already. It doesn't make it any easier to say."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat- in unease, or anticipation- but he remained silent, out of respect for how clearly upset Jimmy was- and when a few moments had ticked by, Jimmy spoke again.

"I… I like the way you talk about your life," Jimmy said, deliberately. Jimmy seemed to pause before each sentence, as if to rehearse it once, in his head. "And the way you think of people. And the qualities you have. You have all of the important qualities- the good ones _and_ the bad ones that matter. That sounds strange… but I-" Jimmy broke off, and, for a moment, he met Thomas's eyes, blinking. "But I- um-" Jimmy looked away again. "It's all so very important to me. Everything about you. And then the other things, even the unimportant things- the way you _speak_, and the color of your hair- and _this_-"

At the word '_this_' Jimmy squeezed Thomas's hand, for emphasis. "Yes. That," Jimmy said, squeezing his hand again- and Thomas felt himself blush. In his chest his heart had begun to pound wildly, and Thomas took a long breath, willing himself to be calm.

"Don't _say_ anything, I'm trying to make a speech," Jimmy said, unsteadily, when Thomas opened his mouth, to reply. Jimmy laughed, a tight little laugh- and cleared his throat, and went on.

"I've always been alone," Jimmy said, after a moment. "Always. But I hadn't counted on meeting you. And you're so…" Jimmy shook his head. "I don't know _what_ you are. I only know that you've told me so many stories. And I- I care about you all the more for it," Jimmy said- and his voice broke, a little- but he gathered himself, shaking his head, and went on. "I… when I started this- I wanted to _woo_ you, I think- but I never have done with anybody. I don't know about romance. I didn't know how. I wanted to give you the best of myself- but I don't know what the best is. Or if there's any good in me at all. So I… I gave you _everything_. It may seem insignificant-"

"It doesn't," Thomas said, his voice sounding much less composed than he had hoped.

"-but it matters, it all _matters_, and everything you say matters to me, because I-" Jimmy's voice broke- and he put his free hand to his brow. "Because I love you," Jimmy finished, in less than a whisper- and he looked directly into Thomas's eyes. "I love you so much, Thomas, you couldn't ever know-" and Jimmy lifted Thomas's hand, and pressed his lips to it, very gently. Jimmy's eyes fell shut, as if in reverence- though his mouth trembled against Thomas's hand.

"I love you too," Thomas said, shakily- and he dropped his hand- and brought both his arms around Jimmy's back, embracing him as he never had. In his heart Thomas felt a happiness so acute that it was almost a physical pain- he thought for a moment he would weep- but he fought it back- and Jimmy shuddered within the circle of his arms, and leaned into him. "God, god," Jimmy said- and put his arms 'round Thomas's back, in return- "that feels so _good_, oh-"

"Mmm. Yes," Thomas agreed, speaking against Jimmy's ear- and Jimmy shivered, and pressed more closely to him. "You really love me, don't you? And you'll never go to _Lonnie_- you'll never go with anybody else, will you?" Jimmy asked, quietly, from where he had laid his head, against Thomas's shoulder.

"No. I couldn't," Thomas said, laying his cheek against Jimmy's hair, and holding him tightly. "I couldn't even if I wanted to. I can't think about anybody but you. It's been that way."

Jimmy leaned up, red faced, and looked into Thomas's face. "Say you'll stay with me your life entire, and never leave me. Say we'll be very old together. Pose as bachelor cousins, or something."

"Yes. Hopefully we'll come up with a more convincing story than that," Thomas said- he was so happy that he was not sure if he was stringing together sentences coherently- but Jimmy nodded as he spoke, and looked much comforted- and so Thomas leaned in- very carefully- and pressed his lips to Jimmy's. For a moment he thought Jimmy would flinch away. Jimmy went very still in his arms, but Thomas could feel the tension that worked through the other man's muscles. But then Jimmy made a sound, against Thomas's lips- and moved his own mouth, putting one hand through Thomas's hair- and Thomas responded in kind, touching Jimmy's back, and deepening the kiss. _Oh, I love you,_ Thomas thought, _I love you-_

"Ah," Jimmy said, breathlessly- and he pulled back, with his face red and his lips parted. "Your mouth feels good," Jimmy said, as if he were stating a fact about the weather- and then he looked startled by his own words. "Ah. I mean-"

"Yours too," Thomas said, unsteadily- and Jimmy, somehow, turned even redder than he had been before. "I- we're going to have to go slowly," Jimmy said, looking away. "I hope it doesn't irritate you. I've just only had my first kiss, and I-"

"Mmm, that's too bad, I can't possibly manage to go _slowly_," Thomas said, making as if he would get up. "I'm off to see Lord Leon-"

"You _arse_," Jimmy said- and he threw his arms around Thomas- and held him in place- until Thomas kissed his cheek. "Of course slowly is fine," Thomas added, seriously. "Everything is fine. It's grand, actually."

"Yes. Grand," Jimmy agreed- and then he squinted at Thomas. "It's your turn."

"God, you win," Thomas laughed. "I haven't got anything to trump a secret love confession."

They always played the game, even if they did not adhere so rigidly to the rules as they had in the beginning- learning about one another- and giving voice to the greatest- and _least_- secrets of their souls, as it was said no man could wisely do. Unless, Thomas thought, a person had found the other half of themselves. Once the idea would have offended Thomas utterly- the thought that he was _incomplete_- or anything less than an island unto himself. But now he saw that he had not _been_ incomplete until he had known Jimmy- as if Jimmy had created an empty space in his heart, and then filled it. And Thomas was made larger by the space within him that was filled with love- wiser, happier, kinder- better. And _life_ was more, as well- more joyous, and more interesting- and more divergent- and more filled with _hope_- and more, always greater- overarchingly greater- and suffused, from day to evening, with a divine sense of meaning. Importance in the smallest things- a flower, or a lunar eclipse- a story of youth- or the span of an owl's wings. These things came together to form the universe- the universe that had given Thomas happiness. Each action and each word- and each story- was its own irreplaceable part of everything- as beautiful, as vast- as love. And as significant.


End file.
